The Most to Lose (3 page)

“Why don’t you tell him what I tell my sisters when they tell me how old I’m getting and that I’m nearly on the shelf?”

“What do you tell them?”

Amanda gave her a sideways glance. “I tell them the truth, of course.”

“Which is?”

“That you and I made a pact and signed it in blood that we would take over for the Chipworth sisters when they died and be the next terrors of London Society.”

Celie laughed loud enough to draw looks from the groups closest to them.

The Chipworth sisters laid claim to having royal blood flowing through their veins. They held themselves so far above the rest of society that one word from either of them could ruin a poor girl’s reputation.

The first word of warning every young debutante received when she prepared for her coming-out was to avoid the Ladies Maude and Matilda Chipworth at all cost. And above all, not to do anything that might draw their attention.

Although everyone was frightfully afraid of the Ladies Chipworth, Celie and Amanda weren’t. Since the two friends were well on their way to becoming spinsters, they no longer cared what either Chipworth sister said or thought, which was probably the reason they got along tolerably well with the two terrors. Their disregard allowed Celie and Amanda to stand back in relative obscurity while the two ladies concentrated on terrorizing the rest of society.

Celie glanced around the room and listened to the music wafting over the din of conversation. “At least the orchestra is passable tonight.”

Amanda stopped to listen. “I’ll give Lady Plimpton credit for that.”

“And the footmen aren’t dressed in togas like they were at Lady—”

Amanda’s sharp gasp stopped Celie from finishing her sentence.

“Look, Celie. Genevieve Rumpleton is dancing with Viscount Lourey. I thought her father forbade him to go anywhere near her.”

Celie turned to follow Amanda’s gaze and rolled her eyes. “The fool. From that enamored look in her eyes, she’s going to make another embarrassing mistake. You’d think, after her last disaster, she’d come to have more faith in her father’s judgment.”

“She has nothing lodged beneath that mass of beautifully styled blonde hair to give her the capability of making such astute reasoning.”

“Amanda Radburn, I think you’re jealous,” Celie said in a teasing tone. “I’ve always known you’ve had a secret love, and now I know who he is. You harbor secret designs on Lourey.”

Her words caused Amanda to choke on her punch. “Drat,” she said when she recovered. “You saw through me. I am jealous. I admit it. I’ve always wanted to be as naive as Genny and attracted to the worst sort of man society has to offer. Instead, I was born with a small amount of common sense and something more than empty space between my ears.”

Celie giggled helplessly. “You’re terrible, do you know that?”

“Of course I do. I enjoy being this way. My sisters tell me my irreverent sense of humor is why no male invites me for a second dance or a repeat drive in the Park.”

“Which sister volunteered to chaperone you tonight?”

Amanda glanced at a group of ladies on the far side of the room. “Mary. I told her the family would be better served if they kept a closer watch over Stephen, since he is far more likely to be involved in a scandal than I am.”

“Is he in trouble again?”

Amanda breathed a heavy sigh. “When isn’t he? I don’t know what it is this time, but I can always tell when he’s gotten himself involved in something he doesn’t want me to know about. He avoids me.”

“He’s avoiding you now?”

Amanda nodded. “Oh, I wish Mother and Father wouldn’t have been taken from us so early. Stephen needs Father’s influence.”

Celie saw the wetness in Amanda’s eyes and gave her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s frightfully warm in here,” she said. “Should we step out onto the terrace?”

“All right. Maybe we’ll happen on some unsuspecting lovers who’ve gone into the shadows. That’s always interesting.”

Celie took one step toward the open French doors when Amanda’s grip tightened on her arm.

“Don’t turn around,” she whispered in Celie’s ear. “Whatever you do, don’t…turn…around.”

“Why ever not?” Celie said. She was desperate to do just that, but she didn’t. If there was one trait she’d come to admire in Amanda, it was her basic instinct to make the right decisions. It had gotten them both out of any number of delicate situations.

“You aren’t going to believe this.”

“What?”

“
I
don’t believe this!”

“What!”

“All right. Get ready to turn around, but don’t react. And whatever you do, don’t scream.”

Celie rolled her eyes. “I won’t scream. I
never
scream.”

“You might when you see this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that Lady Plimpton has just made the largest, most disastrous faux pas of the century.”

Celie wanted to turn. In fact, she was doing everything in her power to do exactly that, but she couldn’t. Amanda still had too tight a grip on her arm and she couldn’t move.

“Let me go,” she said, pulling out of her friend’s hold. “Whatever it is can’t be
that
—”

Celie turned, then followed everyone’s lead as they stared with mouths agape at something that had drawn their attention to the top of the ballroom stairs.

She lifted her chin and her gaze locked onto the tall figure standing there.

He stood ramrod straight for several long, tension-filled seconds, allowing the guests gathered below him the time they needed to take note of his presence.

One by one, the crowd turned and stared. The cacophony of voices quieted until the only sound one heard was the discordant strains of the waltz the orchestra struggled to play.

It was him.

Celie’s breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat.

It was him. Jonah Armstrong, the Earl of Haywood.

His shoulders were as broad as Celie remembered, his hair as dark. And he was as handsome as he’d been in every dream she’d had of him since she was young.

No
, she thought as she studied his features,
he was
more
handsome
. Except his looks had hardened from how she remembered him. There was a rugged handsomeness to him now that added to his magnificence. No doubt the time he’d spent fighting in the Crimea had done that. No doubt everything he’d experienced had toughened his features and erased any hint of softness he’d had when he was younger.

Even from this distance, Celie could see his high, chiseled cheekbones and the sharp angle of his jaw. He wore his hair in the same style he always had, an inch longer in the back than her brother wore his, just long enough that it touched the top of his collar. He parted it on the left and combed it to the side, no doubt to tame the wave that always wanted to fall over his high forehead. The wave she’d often brushed from him in her dreams.

His lips were full, and she’d often wondered what it would be like to…

Celie stopped her imagination from running rampant. Or from remembering how often she’d imagined the feel of his lips against hers. Even though he’d never kissed her. Even though he never would. Even though the passion they’d shared had only been in her dreams.

Her blood heated as it rushed through her veins.

Suddenly it wasn’t his looks that consumed her but the speculation of what would happen when her brother realized Haywood was there.

Celie tore her gaze from the figure at the top of the stairs to search for Hadleigh.

It didn’t take long to locate him, and when she did, she locked onto the black expression on his face. Her brother’s riveting glare wasn’t exactly deadly, but it held a threatening warning. A warning anyone who’d ever dealt with him knew to be wary of.

“What do you think your brother will do?” Amanda whispered.

“I don’t know.”

Immediately after Melisande’s death, every hostess in London took great pains to avoid including both the Duke of Hadleigh and Jonah Armstrong on their guest lists.

The first time Jonah showed up at an affair where Hadleigh was, Hadleigh bade his hosts a premature farewell and informed them that he found it impossible to stay in the same room with Jonah Armstrong. In the blink of an eye, Jonah became a pariah in London Society.

But circumstances were different now. Jonah was no longer the second son of an impoverished earl, but he carried the title. As the Earl of Haywood, he was an important member of society. He’d also returned from the Crimea a decorated war hero who’d been commended by the Queen herself. That alone made him someone every hostess wanted in attendance at her event.

“Your brother won’t be able to repeat his actions of three years ago. If he bids our host and hostess a premature farewell because the Earl of Haywood is here, I’m afraid Lady Plimpton will wear a smile as she sees your brother to the door. Haywood’s presence will give any event he attends the stamp of success.”

“I know,” Celie agreed. “I overheard Lady Warring tell the Duchess of Portsmouth that everyone had invited the Earl of Haywood to their affairs, but so far, he’d refused them all.”

“Well, his presence tonight has given everyone something to talk about.”

Everyone in the room remained focused on the Earl of Haywood as he walked toward the edge of the stairs to begin his descent.

“Have you noticed how he favors his left leg?” Amanda asked. “I heard he was injured. His wound must have been quite serious if he’s not yet completely healed.”

Celie struggled with the concern that consumed her. The two years and four months Jonah was gone were the longest, most worrisome years of her life. She spent more time than she could remember praying that he would stay safe, praying that he would return to England alive.

And he had.

He’d been injured, but he hadn’t been killed. And he was here tonight to announce to everyone that he intended to take his place in society.

Celie felt an overwhelming sense of elation, knowing the courage this took.

“Did you know he would be here?” Amanda asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

Celie shook her head. “I’m glad he is, though.”

Amanda stepped closer. “If your brother makes a move to cut him like he did three years ago, don’t be surprised if I do something very unladylike.”

Celie shifted her gaze to Amanda’s face. What she saw made her smile.

Her best friend wore the most serious, determined look of resolve Celie had ever seen. She looked like a soldier poised to go into battle.

“You’re that determined to protect the Earl of Haywood?”

“No, I’ll let you protect him, if you’d like. I’m determined to save your brother the embarrassment of making a fool of himself. Perhaps he might even avoid being the topic of ridicule in every salon tomorrow morning. His foolish mourning has gone on long enough.”

Celie couldn’t agree more. Everyone knew the Duke of Hadleigh should have gotten on with his life years ago.

Celie turned back to the top of the stairs and let her eyes settle on Jonah Armstrong, Earl of Haywood. A warm blanket wrapped around her heart as she watched him.

The crowd was quiet, but the murmur of whispered comments grew with each step he took toward the bottom, where Lord and Lady Plimpton stood.

He held his head high and kept his back straight, but there was a stiffness in his gait, as if the wound he’d been rumored to have suffered still pained him.

His legs were long and muscled, and he took each step with determination, as if he couldn’t wait to reach the bottom of the stairs to make a place for himself. He was exquisite. Perfect in form—as perfect as he’d been the last time Celie had seen him.

As perfect as he was each night in her dreams.

He wore an expensively tailored black evening jacket that was buttoned handsomely over a waistcoat of shimmering burgundy satin. He had donned an elaborately tied cravat and a dress shirt that shone a blinding white.

Her brother was handsome, but the Earl of Haywood was magnificent. His effect on her was like a piece of the sun that had broken off and rolled around in her chest. When it wrapped its warming glow around her heart, her chest tightened with emotion before the warmth invading her chest plummeted to the pit of her stomach.

She’d tried to fight the growing attraction she had for him, reasoning that she only felt this way because he’d been her older brother’s closest friend. Because he’d been a frequent visitor at their home. Because he’d been her first love.

But that wasn’t it. She knew that now. This was the first time she’d seen him in more than three years, and the same unquenchable yearning ached inside her with greater ferocity than ever before.

A growing heat warmed her cheeks, spread through her chest, then rushed down to her stomach, where it swirled like a bubbling whirlpool. Her unsettled emotions made it unquestionably clear that she wasn’t simply infatuated with him.

Lady Cecelia Randolph, who’d known from the day she’d first seen him that he was the only man she would ever love, felt gentle fingers hold and caress her heart. She loved the Earl of Haywood more today than she ever had. She ached with the pointlessness of it.

How stupid she was. How utterly, totally, unequivocally stupid. Her brother was Haywood’s mortal enemy. Why would he give someone who would come with such baggage a second look?

Haywood reached the bottom of the stairs and conversed with his host and hostess for several moments. They seemed inordinately pleased to see him. Not at all surprised. As if his presence had been anticipated, as if he’d been an
invited
guest.

Then he turned and entered the ballroom.

The welcome he received from the guests was very different tonight than it had been three years ago. The crowd parted to allow him to enter, then closed the circle to greet him as they would anyone who had been absent for such a long time. Anyone who’d returned from the war a decorated hero.

Celie tried to tear her gaze away from him, wished his towering form didn’t stand out so, wished she could lose him in the crowd. But she couldn’t. He was nearly a head taller than most of the other men in the room, his coffee-rich hair glistening beneath the flickering candles above him.